Contolling Insanity
by Isabell Marshal
Summary: man struggles to control evil self, which is hell bent on destroying and killing every thing in its path. Gets more interesting as you read.


Controlling Insanity

Chapter I

As he sat, crouched in the bushes by the river, he felt the darkness closing in. He could feel the presence of something, watching him, waiting to catch him off guard, if the chance presented itself. It won't get me, he thought, no it will never catch me. Never. His hand dropped to his pistol, and gripped it until his knuckles turned white. He kept his grip on that pistol till the horizon turned gold with the rising sun, until the darkness finally pulled away, taking the something with it.

The sun had fully risen on the Rocky Mountains horizon before he finished packing his camp and headed west once more. He had no idea where he was going to go, but as far as he was concerned, any place was better than Boston. Going there had been one of the worst mistakes of his life.

He had recently bought a small business up that way, and the seller had wanted him there to keep everything running smoothly. So, hoping to make some easy money, he went, leaving Savannah behind him. Growing up on a small farm there, he had been taught alot of things that were needed to survive, but did not have much real schooling. That is what killed him, when he fot to Boston. He could not conduct himself as well as others, because that was not what he had been raised to do. He had been raised to be a farmer or cattleman, not a business man. He hadn't been taught many manners, how th conduct dals, or anything of that nature. And no one had bothered to teach him, expecting him to know all of it.

The business almost went bankrupt because of him, and of cource he was fired. He didn't have enough money for him to get home, or to get a place to stay, so he saddled his horse, and had planned to fing a job. The next thing he knew, he was pushing Ol' Jonhson just about as far as he sould go, heading out of town.

He couldn't remember all of what happened at first, and he still couldn't. But the snatches of it he did remember made it clear that he had shot the owner. He had been standing next to his horse at the time. He emtied his wallet, and rode off before anyone noticed. All he knew was that he could never go back there, or could he go back to Savannah. They would be looking for him there. He had to run, and run fast. Robberies and holdups somtimes got noticed, but were mostly dismissed after a couple of days. Murders, now they wee different. It was considered the most cowardly deed that can ever be done, and for that, they will hunt you to hell and back. Until you were so worn from runin', your legs were half gone.

He hadn't meant to do what he did, but of course they would not listen. They would never think of him anymore than just a ruthless animal, bent on killing anything in his path. And why shouldn't they? He, himself, thought about himself like that. Sometimes, on this lonely and forlorn trail, with no one but Ol' Jonhson, he would grab his gun and put it to his head. Then this instinct, the same instinct that kiled that man, would make him put the gun away.

He didn't know where he was to go. He hadn'y wanted this life, nor meant to have it. Now, like it or not, he's an outlaw. An outlaw that will have to run in order to live. I have no dout that he wil have to kill more men, and comit more crimes. Who knew that Ralph Koleman, a more or less good guy, who has never broken the law in his life, to now be running to the west, hoping for a new life and a second chance.

Chapter II

Rig Gunnison looked on, as the cattle and outfit walked across the Ozarks. It was early spring, and the prairie was covered with new grass, fresh and good for grazing. The six man outfit was having no trouble with them at that time. It was an almost perfect day, at least until the wind started to pick up, blowing the blinding sand into the eyes, noses, and mouths of the unexperieced men. The herd wasn't moving, and the men were not willing to get them moving.

Rig, who had been a cattlehand since he was old enough to ride a horse, had seen this kind of weather before, and finally got the men, blinded by sand, to get the cattle moving. It was hard and tedious, but Rig kept them pushing forward it what he thought was a more or less straight line.

When the storm cleared, and the wind died down, they had lost more than a quarter of the herd, almost 550 head! When Rugby and Max came back from scouting for cattle, they had only recovered about 200.

No things had been taking a turn for the worst, but maybe a form of luck was riddin' over the hill.

A well built, gruff looking man road into the camp, worn to the bone, and hungry. His horse didn't look much better, if not worse.

"Can I trouble you for a meal?" he asked, his Georgian accent coming through strongly, "I haven't eaten in days, and the way things are going for me, I'm going to need it."

"Yes, you may." He said. If he could get this man to join them, they might have a little better luck. Yet, he didn't know why he thought this.

"What's your name,kid?"

Ralph was about to reply, but hesitated. They might know he was wanted if he saidhis real name. No, he had to come up with an allyis.

"'Names Allen," he quickly, remembering a friend from Savannah,"Allen Joseph Nirro. And what's yours?"

Why did this kid hesitate? He thought. They guy looked like he might be in trouble, yet Rig needed him.

"Rig, Rigger Gunnison." he replied.

"Do you have a job son?" he said caustiously.

"No," Ralph said curiously, "But if your offerin' one, I could sure use the money."

"Well, good then," he said, amazed at his luck, "You got yourself one."

They both shoke hands, and Ralph ate ravinously. When finished he got on his horse (which head been changed to a buckskin stallion. His Ol' Johnson was resting) and rode to the cows, taking a position at the right flank. He had never done this before, but he had remembered watchng it be done. But he had to make it convinsing. Ralph had seen the question in the ma's eyes. He had to prove his worth, or else be back to square one.

They started the cattle, and surprisingly, he tookd to it like a duck to water. In his mind, he had not been whown haw to do this, but his instinct told him this had been his caling. Suddenly, he flet as if Ralph Koleman was gone, and he was now A.J. Nirro. It's better than Being Koleman, he thought, and decided that that waswho he was, a Georgian cattleman. All of a sudden, he didn't know who this Ralph Koleman was, nor did he care.

No one was surprized at him taking to it. They had thought him a cattleman before they saw him. He made it look easy, but both he and they knew it wasn't, no matter how experienced you were. When finished for the day, they ate talked about gunfights, whose horse was better or faster, what they were going to do with their money, and many other nonimportant things.

The new kid did not say much, and the most he they ever heard him say was when they were talking about that killing in Boston.

"They say the man shot out of jealousy," Max said, "Some guy named Ralph Koleman."

"Never heard of him." A.J. said a little to quickly.

Max loked at him quizzingly, then said "They say he's some hick from Georgia. Came to take over a business up there." He chuckled, "I bet you went to school with him, huh, A.J? He's probably from your hometown."

"If he is, I never met him." he replied sourly,"And anyway why would I remember him? I haven't been home for five years."

"Well,I just thought you might know," Max said defensively,"I just thought you might know where he's hiddin'. Thier paying a mighty good sum for him, dead or alive."

The subject was dropped at that. No one wanted to disturb A.J. anymore than had already been done.

When they turned in for the night, A.J. was put on the first night watch shift. He was supposed to wake a man named Sovik at around midnight. The cattle were queit, except for the slight shuffling as they bedded down for the night. He saw nor heard anything, but he was never very much on guard. He was too busy thining about what Max had said. What would he do if Max found out he was Koleman? Probably kill him, then drag his corpes to Boston. He had been smart to change his name.

Midnight came, and Sovik replaced him. For a few moments he let his mind wonder about Sovik. He was a strange man, with a bad limp on his right leg. They said he had lived through hell, and, besides Rig, he was the most respected man amoung them. The reason for this was lost to him.

He had never heard of him, nor did Sovik had done before this. But for now he didn't care. Right now he just wanted to sleep. Let the weeks that had passed be forgotten for a time. Yes, he must sleet. He must.

Chapter III

The following weeks were uneventfull. They worked from dawn to dusk, which A.J. was comfortable with. They ate well, and when not working just talked, played cards, or fought over who would win specified gunfights. The gunfights never happened and probably never would, but it gave them something to do. He grew to like the quiet life on the trail. He was good at it, and he enjoyed the word. The dust didn't bother him none, nor did he care for the strong smel of the cattle. Everybody agreed that he was one of the best cowhands among them, besides Sovik and Rigger.

Ol' Johnson had since recovered, and seemed to enjoy the work as much as he did. He was an excellent horse, and respectful of who ever rode him. Johson didn't like the dust, but since they were on the right flank most of the time, they didn't need to worry about it much.

They reached Missouri in good time, making up for the sand storm delay. Rig hed to admit, though, if it hadn't been for that storm, they mighjt not have met that man, A.J. Nothing had bothered the kid ever since he joined the outfit. He fit rith in with the boy's, but he would probabl disapear, now that the drive was over. Sovik had agreed to do another drive, but he really wanted A.J. to stay. He'd have t ask him about it, before he rode away.

The hands were paid, and most, ordiary to there nature, left the outfit. All except Sovik, a man called Scout, and A.J. Rigger was surprised that they would be willing, or desperate, enough to do another drive with him. If he could get maybe 5 more hands, and some cattle, he could go out again, maybe to Montana. He heard that some men had driven 2000 catt;e that way, indians and all. It was all wild country out there, no law, no towns, just open space and the Sioux. If he could get men and cattle, he could do it. He had the experience, and both Sovik and Nirro wee both top hands. Scout was good, but would have to work hard if he wanted to stay for this one.

But four men, no matter how dedicated and experienced, would not be able to drive that many cattle that far. He'll have to put out a notice. He had money to buy cattle and horses, but he he would have to go a ways yo get any.

Rig pased back and forth thinking of a way he could do this. He finally decided to ride, with A.J., Sovik, and Scout, to Oklahoma, buy some cattle, and pick up some hands on the way. He would have to start tomorrow, if he hoped to finish the drive before winter.

He walked out into the street, expecting to see some people over at the salon. It was about that time, but there was only one horse there. Maye they walked, he thought. Rig wasn't expecting any of his hands to be there (they usually went right to the whores). Sovik didn't drink anyway. A.J., he had no idea, but from what he had seen, he didn't either.

Rig walked over to the almost empty saloon, and found Nirro sittin' at the bar. He had two empty bottles of beer pushed to one side, and was working on another.

There was something wrong, Rigger knew. He thought about talking to him, but didn't. The man was probably drunk, and by the looks of him, didn't want to talk. He sat down at a corner table ordered a beer and thought about Nirro. What could be wrong with him? He was fine just this morning. What happened? Maybe he was homesick, or maybe he was eager to get back to work.

Rigger didn't know that he was only half right.

Chapter IV

A.J. had been told (a miricle he could still remember) the night before, just before he'd left the bar, that tghey would be laving today. But right now he didn't think that he could even get out of bed. His temples throbed from his hangover. He had never been an avide drinker. A couple of beers maybe, but never as bad as it was last night. He didn't ever remember getting home.

Last night, he had just had an urge for a beer, and after that, all his feelings and bad memories uust came back to him. He remembered that he was Ralph Koleman, a killer, and outlaw, bound to a lifetime of running. That depressed him badly. So badly, that he had drunken more than 5 beers, and at least 10 shots of whiskey (he really didn't remember). He had spenyt all of his money, and now he was paying the price for it.

I might as well take it, A.J. thought, as he finally got out of bed. I can't just lay here all day. I promised to do a job, and I'm going to do it, by God!

He got on his horsde and headed out of town, pain stabing into his temples with each bounce of the horse. He met up with the others just as he came to the edge of town.

"Well, look who decided to grace us with his presence." Scout said as he pulled up beside them

Scout, now there was a character. He was only about five-foot-five, and yet he was such a bad ass that you would have thought he was six-footer if you hadn't seen him. With his short stucko colored hair, and weak brown eyes, he did not exactly pronounce strenth. The man, A.J. knew could barely lift a calf, and yet you could't tell it from the way he acted. The man might have acted tough, but he knew that Scout was a snibbling coward at heart.

"Drank a little too much, huh A.J.?" Rigger said, giving Scout an ugly glare while he was at it.

"Ya," he managed to reply, "But I won't leave a job undone."

"Oh, I get it," Scout taunted again,"So your a dedicated drunk,right?"

At the end of the statement, Scout got a nice jab in the nose from Sovik.

"You just don't know when to quit, do you? I thought you were done talking," Sovik said calmly, his Russian accent coming though vaguely," Guess I was wrong."

Rigger was rolling over with laughter, almost falling out of the sadle. A.J., himself, was chuckling a little.

"Maybe you'll shut up, not, huh Scout?" Rig said, gasping with laughter.

When Rig finally stopped laughting, they continued onward. For a whil, ther was silence between them. No one said a word unti they stopped at their first of many towns to go. They loaded up on some foood and headed out once more.

They kept on truckin', the days turning to weeks. A.J. thought it peaceful, listeningto the cyotes hoqwl at the full moon overhead. For miles, the country was clear. Not one builing or Skyscaper or watever else, blocked the view of the sky, or country side. He had been a way from home for a whild now (he hadn't lied about that), and had forgotten how buetiful the country could be. It was always here, but in the chaos of the city, he hed forgotten that.

At times the horizon was dotter with farms or a small town. A couple times they saw an outfit herding some cattle. When they occationaly met these outfits, they would eat, talk a little bit, and then be on their way. He never peaid any attention to the outfits. In his mind, storing names and places in his memory would just divert him from his job. Besides, he probably wouldn't ever see these people again.

There wasn't any real eventful things that went on during that time. They traveled, ate, and slept, and that was it. Besides some smal towns and cattle outfits, there was no place to go, and no one to talk to. Even when they it a town, he didn't stay in it long. Rig might go and get som supplies, but that was it. A.J. had no reson to go to town. He had no money, and if he di, there was nothing he wuold want to do or buy. He had all he needed, and was content with just that.

They finallly reached Oklahoma City, Oklahoma. They set up camp outside the city (saves money on room and board), and set out to find some hands and cattle.

They decided to split up, Rig going with Scout (it was obvious that he didn't like Nirro) and A.J. with Sovik. A.J. and Sovik were sent to find the hads, being good hands themselves. Scout and Rig go going on finding the cattle.

Rig had seen some cattle pull in earlier, but had no idea if they could be bought or not. Just to be safe, they were going to have to earch for some for sale. What better place to see who was selling cattle than a bar?

Sure enough, after several minutes of talkin' in the bar, they found some stock for slae. Some man named Chaston, was sellin' unbranded cattle (from whee no one knew) for about two dollors a head. Now both Scout and him, had never seen stock that cheap. They were probably worthless, Rigger thought, but he didn't have much money. What choice did he have?

Surprisingly, the cattle looked perfectly healthy.

"Found them up in the mountains," Chastan said," I just needed some cash, so I got them here and posted a price."

"Well they look better than I thought they would look." Scout commented.

"I've neber been a buyer of stock," Chaston replied,"I don't know what the startin' price for stock is or anything. I just put up a nice cheap price. So how much of the stock do ya want?"

"All of it." said Rig bluntly, with no hesitation.

Chaston didn't ask questions, just sold the stock to them and went on his way. Rigger and Scout got to counting them.

While this was developing, on the other side of town, Sovik and Nirro were having a harder time lookin' for willing hands.No one in the town was willing to go as far as they were going.

That day they had only convinced three hands to do it, and even those were hesitant. They had managed to convince a tough Irishman, Gregory Finich, An abnormaly tall man who called himself Randy Birch, and a short Mexican who needed the money, but only told them his first name, Oscar. Rig was dissapointed, but no surprised. The total count of stock was 1550. Normaly he would have stopped and gotten more hands, but they had to get started, or they wouldn't make it before winter. Seven men were just gonna have to do.

Chapter V

Scout just couldn't shake the feeling of unease in his gut. It had been there ever since that A.J. guy had rolled into camp. It had just gotten worse with time, that feeling that he was being lied to, of betrayl. The worsening of this feeling had sped up after the conversation about the Koleman man. Now it was reaching its peak, to the point where he was starting to keep his right eye open when he slept. He didn't know how he had elarned to do this, but he idd know it happened.

Why are you so scared? he had thought many times. Every time he told himself that he wasn't scared, just cautious. Isn't it the same thing? the voice would answer. All of this would just make the feeling worse, so he tried not to think about it. Much. But it just won't stay out of his mind, nor could it be pushed out of his mind.

Sitting by the fire tonight, alone, listening to the crickets and lone cyotes, that feeling was stronger than it had ever been. He just didn't know why it was there at all, or what it ment he should do if he even knew.

"What the hell is wrong?" he said in a loud whisper, "I'm actingh like A.J. is Koleman!"

His heart stopped beating for a second, his eyes wide and scared. His breath caught in his throut and then came out in shallow gasps. Was he? He starecd over at A.J., sleeping just fine,no worries. Scout immediatly got up from the fire, saddled his horse and started to ride into town.

"Where are you off to?" a voice behind him asked. Scout stopped dead, his heart beat loud and sickingly in his ears. He turned slowly back around, to see the owner of the voice, a man calleed Birch, Looking at him from the side of the herd, a questioning look in his eyes.

"Off to town," he said, almost faster than he could make his mouth move, "Seeing if we can't get a couple more men to ride with us."

Birch nodded and turned away, the questioning look still in his eyes.

"Strange man," he whispered to himself, heading back to the cattle, "Strange, strange man. I can't wait to get this drive started."

Unbeknowest to both of them, A.J. was starring up into the sky with wild eyes. Scout knew. He knew! What if he told someone? What if the outfit found out? He would be dead for sure, if Scout told anyone. And even if he kept his mouth shut, he would still have a problem.

Kill him, a vicious, yet familiar voice said in his mind, kill him, like you killed that little prick business owner.

No, he shot back, No I can't do it again. Ralph Koleman can't.

But your not Ralph Koleman anymore, the voice said, Your A.J. Nirro, and he can and will kill anyone who gets in his way.

"Well, you son of a whore, Koleman is still in control of you. Thanks but no thanks."

He got up from his bed and packed up. He had to leave, and it had to be tonight. Stealthy as a cougar, he got on his horse, and rode to the cattle. He got no farther than that.

"Man, where is every one going tonight?"

Nirro turned and looked at him. Birch saw the menecing look in his eyes butwasn't afaid. He was twice this guys size, standing at least 5 inches taller, and wieghed maybe 40 pounds heavier.

This seemed to trigger something in the man. The mans eyes, which Birch would have sworn were light grayinsh blue when he turneed around, changed to a blood colored red, shining out of increasingly sunken eye sockets like dull rubies. It seemed as if the mans whole body seemed to be morphing before his eyes. The man grew leaner, and weeks worth of beard grew in a matter of seconds, and his hieght increased. Randy had enough time to wonder if he had gone crazy, when, as quickly as it had started, it stopped. This change happened so fast, that Randy dissmissed it, telling himself that it had never happened.

"Well?" he said tyo this man. An uneasy silence followed. So unesasy that Birch started to feel as if he should have never bothered the man.

"Going to kill Scout," Nirro replied, making it sound as if he did it every day, "You want to join me?"

The mans voice held a subtle type of sarcasm in it, one that sent shivers up Randy's spine. He looked into the mans eyes, trying to tell if this was some sick joke or if he was serious.

The mans eyes seemed to swallow him in thier rudy like shine. He became entranced in them, and for a while could say nothing.

"Who are you?" Birch heard himself say from his trance.

"Ralph Koleman," Nirro said, "A murderer."

The trance broke, and Birch, in spite of the fear he felt, laughed.

"I always wanted to be an outlaw," he said, surprising himself again, "And it's better than staying with this cattle. Ya, I'll join you."

"Pack your things, then, quietly now. And take some money off the other. Don't worry about waking them. Just take it, we are going to need it."

Once he had finished this chore, none of the hands stirring as he stole the money, Koleman and Birch rode out to find Scout, guns in hand.

Chapter VI

When Scout looked at the picture on the poster, he knew they were one and the same man. And look at that reward! He could retire on that money!

Well get him! an excited voice yelled. Go kill him, and drag him dowm here. They said they wantd him dead or alive, so go get him.

Scout turned around, and was staring down the barrel of an old Colt peacemaker. This would be one of the last images he ever saw.

"Hello, Scout," Birch said, "You weren't planning on turning my friend Ralph in, were ya?"

Scout almost cried out then, but got no farther than drawing his last breath. Birch fired, sending the lead slug into his brain. Scout was dead before he hit the ground, and at the same moment as his death, Ralph Koleman also died, and A.J. Nirro came in his place.

When Scout had fell to the ground, making a hideous thud, Nirro started to laugh. It wasn't long before Birch joined in. They manged to get control of themselves and began to raid Scouts belongings. Most of it was trash but some things were useful. When they had finished, they got on their horses, and were about to leave, when another man rode up, attracted by the gunshots. He stared at Scout for a moment, then looked at them, fear clear on his face.

"You want to ride with us?" A.J. said. The very words sounded absurd to Birch, and the responce astonished him even more.

"'Name's Rhodes," the man said distantly, "Where you bound?"

"Anywhere but here and Montana." Birch replied, not knowing what else to say.

"Good enough for me," the man called Rhodes said, mounting his horse, "I'll go anywhere with you."

"Get on your horse and let's get going then." A.J. seemed to be absolutly pleased, seeing nothing wrong with this man's answer.

Leaving Oklahoma City in a trail of dust they rode on, Birch, Jack, and Nirro. They had no idea that Sovik, vigilant as he was, had followed them, and watched them kill Scout. His heart beating rapidly, his breath coming in shallow gasps, sprinted his horse back to camp. When he did, every one in the camp knew something was wrong. They could not have imagined how bad.

Chapter VII

Rigger felt like a damned fool. He should have known that something was wrong when Nirro (or Koleman, which ever one) went on that drinking spree. Hell, he should have got a hint when he rode into camp the first time. When he hesitated at giving his name. When he got nervous about the conversation about him. There had been so many signs, and yet he had ignored them. Now, Scout had paid for his mistake.

Sovik was very close to shock, and so were most of the others. How could this happen? For the fourth time in his life, he had seen somebody get killed. Out of the others, only one had been a murder, but had been for good reason - as good a reason as there was for intentinally killing someone. And he had trusted this man! He had even stood up for him, against Scout no less. Now, Scout was dead. He had known that he was Koleman all along.

Sovik looked at Rigger, a wild look in his eyes.

"What now?" he said to Rigger in a flat tone that allowed his accent to really come out.

Rigger had to think on that one. What were they going to do now? Continue the drive, go after Koleman and Birch? If they didn go after them, what would they do with the cattle? He had to make the decision, and it had to be made tonight.

"We'll go on with the drive," he said finally, "We'll tell anyone along the way about this, what they look like, what horses their ridin'. It's the only thing that seems resonable."

"Why not go after them?" Osc the mexican said, "We could split the reward."

"What would we do with the cattle?" Sovik shot back.

"Sell em."

"By the time we sold them, they would be long gone, Osc." Rigger responded, having heard enough of the bickering, "And, where would we think to look? We don't know where their headed."

"What if we just left 'em." Osc said persuasively.

"This is a good herd of cattle!" the Irishman piped up, "There would be no reason to leave such good cattle."

"That settles it," Sovik said, "We're going on, and that's the end of it."

Osc shook his head, wanting to continue the fued, but thinking better of it. After a moment, he got up and went to check on the cattle.

Birch couldn't believe what he had just done. His conscious told him it was sin - and a horrible on at that - but he couldn't help being excited about it. He didn't think they would be followed. If the others saw what had happened they would probibly not follow. Rig looked lie the kind of man who cared about cattle more than money, or Scout for that matter. Sovik would follow him, being the pup on a string that he was. The others would just have to follow suit. If anyone did follow them, they would kill them. Simple as that. All of their guns were loaded, and anybody following better know that. If they didn't, they were as good as dead.

_No, _he thought, _maybe we'll have some mercy. Maybe we'll just cripple him, show people that we mean business. God help whoever gets in our way._

"Good thinking." A.J. said breaking his train of thought.

"Huh?"

"Crippling the next man who gets in our way," A.J. said, "That's a good idea."

"Oh, thanks." Birch said, wondering if he had thought aloud without realizing it.

"I think that it would be in all of our best interest," A.J. said, changing the subject, "if we get on first name baises, here. Both of you will call me A.J.. And you are...?"

"Randy," he said, once again in that half tranced state, "Randall Birch."

"Jackson Cole Rhodes," the man named Rhodes said, also looking a bit tranced, "Good to meet you both." He stared at Birch, the tranced look coming out of his face, "Haven't I heard of you before?"

"You might of known my brother, Nathon."

"So he's your brother, is he?"

"He is. Was a bank robber for many years. But he's dead now, so that doesn't matter anymore."

A.J. could hear the sorrowful tone in Randy's voice. It was barely noticeable, only a trace, but he could hear it. And was sure that he wasn't faking it. Koleman might have thought that, but he knew better. Only years of getting through it could hide hurt to that degree.

For a while, they rode on in silence. Jack didn't try to push out more conversation. He also knew that Birch was hurtin' about his brother, having lost one himself. Right no, he didn't feel like getting the shit beat out of him, just because he couldn't keep his mouth shut.

No one said a thing until they pulled into a station at Lawton.

Chapter VIII

Sam Compton had been a deputy for about as long as trains had been around, and in all his years, his intuitions had never told him as strong that something was wrong.

Three men (bigger men than he was used to seeing) were ridin' up to the station. At first glance, he had dissmissed them as the cause of the worried intuition. That had been his mistake. It hadn't taken long for him to see something was going on. He couldn't see it clearly, but it looked like they were hustling a man on the platform. No big surprise. He had been around long enough to know that it could be just a simple argument, and would probibly blow over in a couple seconds. At least, that's what he thought. At least, until one of the men pulled a gun. At least, until he heard the report of the shot, echoing through the station.

He jumped to his feet, frightened but excited. Sam had never been anywhere near something like this. He usually just heard about murders, or robberies, while he had broken up many drunken bar fights, and occationally a wife beating. But right now he wasn't going to miss this oppurtunity to establish himself.

Cautiously (his intuition was still in partial control), he ran up to the three men, the people around them getting down and clear of them.

"Put up your hands!" he yelled at them. Still, they just stood over the mans body. The tallest man looked up at him, but didn't show much interest at all.

"Hand up, and drop your weapons on the ground!" he yelled again, drawing a pistol, "I'm warning you!"

"Really," said the second man, his Georgian accent coming through, "And what could you do to us?"

Before Sam could answer, or even think to answer, Jack shot him. Nothing fancy and nothing else said. Sam had been bringing his gun up, but it hadn't made its way even past his side. He dropped the gun, and just fell to the ground. Once again, nothing fancy and nothing else said. Some people screamed, but almost all the others were shocked and disipointed into silence.

The man that they had tried to rob lay groaning on the ground, for, as they promised, he had only been crippled, not killed. Others were now shaking like leaves, some slowly crawling into hiding.

"Get his money, and anything else that might be of use." Randy said looking at the deputy with as much concern as a man who looked at the sun setting.

As Jack raided the deputy, A.J. and Randy raided the others. There seemed to be no worry in their walk, in no rush to get gone. Some people gave them tickets, most just money. Thinking it was better if they didn't leave witnesses, they killed them after raiding them. There was no compasion in their eyes, and the please of men and women did not seem to matter to them. With the same lack of compasion, they threw the bodies behind the service desk, including that of the ingured man.

When the train showed up, they borded, and that was that. They had made it and got away just before the Lawton police got there. They hadn't killed the ingured man, but A.J. thought that was fine. He wanted people to know them, wanted them to be afraid of them. Wanted to be remembered, especailly the crippled man.

The passengers on the train paid them no heed. They had wondered why more people had not gotten on, bt you could never tell how how many people would get on. They didn't know that they were sitting on the train with three murderers. Nor did they know of the many dead people left in the last station, or of the injured man, crying for help in the land of the dead, his crys echoing in the empty station.

Chapter IX


End file.
